


come and meet me in the morning light

by lumberjackbeards



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumberjackbeards/pseuds/lumberjackbeards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire would never give up their morning routine- even if it did happen at an ungodly time of day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come and meet me in the morning light

“Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered. He sat next to him on the bed and poked him until he began to stir. It was 5.30 am and the room was lit in a soft grey light from the sun just beginning to creep into the sky. “Grantaire, wake up.”

He made an incomprehensible grumbling noise and rolled over so that his head was on Enjolras’ lap. “Is it that time already?” He whined, tugging on Enjolras’ hand. “Can’t I get a little more sleep?”

For his part, Enjolras remained mostly unmoved. This was a dance that happened six days a week. “You don’t have to do this,” He reminded, stroking a hand over Grantaire’s curls. “I could always do my own hair.”

It was an empty threat; Grantaire would never give up their morning routine- even if it did happen at an ungodly time of day. He grumbled again as he sat up, but it was just for show; he didn’t look the least bit put out. “There’s no need for that,” His voice was soft and rough with sleep, and as always it made Enjolras want to curl back in bed with him. He passed him the hairbrush and turned so that he was sitting on the bed with his back facing Grantaire.

Grantaire ran his fingers through his hair; it was fluffy and still a bit warm from the hairdryer. Dandelion, he thought; Enjolras was like a dandelion this morning.

For Grantaire, taking care of Enjolras’ hair was more fulfilling than sex ever could be. Of course that would sound so strange to others, he knew, but taking care of another person could be just as intimate as sex, and nothing made him feel closer to Enjolras than this. Even this was an act of trust.

Every morning Enjolras would wake him up to style his hair before work; when he got home, he’d let Grantaire brush it out and pull it back into a far less severe style, and before they went to bed, he’d sit and let Grantaire brush it for over an hour, while they would whisper about their days and their work; their plans for the next day or a million other inconsequential other matters. Sometime days they wouldn’t say anything, and Enjolras would fall asleep against him.

When they had first started dating he hadn’t really understood how Grantaire found so much pleasure in such a simple act, but as their relationship grew he had become to enjoy it just as much as Grantaire. He looked forward to it more than any other part of his day; he could always feel all his stress and tension just slip away with Grantaire softly, (and carefully; so _so_ carefully), brushing out his curls.

Grantaire always began by running his fingers through Enjolras’ curls for a few moments, working out any tangles before he moved upwards, where he’d always brush his nails across his scalp to feel him shiver. He’d spend a few minutes massaging his head; on the many mornings Enjolras would wake up with a stress headache, this would banish them.

When he pulled away to grab the brush, Enjolras let out an involuntary whine and leaned backwards as if to entice Grantaire to returning to the massage. He expected this so Grantaire only huffed out a laugh, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of Enjolras’ neck before starting in with the brush. Enjolras let himself relax, pliant against Grantaire, trusting him to know exactly how long he could spend on this.

One morning, when their relationship was still new and the arrangement had just been made, Grantaire mumbled something about a half-remembered fairytale- a princess who had to do a hundred strokes with a brush every day to keep her gold-spun hair. It was a silly detail to remember, but sometimes Enjolras would try to keep count and see if Grantaire was trying to meet the fairytale’s requirements, but most days he would just content himself to get lost in the sensation and let Grantaire take care of him.

He was being washed back into the space between sleep and awake when Grantaire finally set the hairbrush down and guided Enjolras to sit up straight. He winced as Grantaire began to style it; he always made the plaits harsh and tight so they would last through the day; he didn’t mind, but it was always a startling feeling, being whisked away from the edge of sleep like that.

The braid was completed in mere moments; after doing this for so long his braids were always perfect, and some days Enjolras wished he wasn’t this adept at it so it would last longer. But it was over quick as always and Enjolras was passing him bobby pins to pin it up into a bun. The pins weren’t much fun either, but he could hardly wear his hair loose to the law firm, let alone court. He would have chopped his hair off years ago if it hadn’t been for Grantaire. He had always loved his curls, but efficiency was vital to him, so they probably wouldn’t have lasted about a month into Enjolras’ job if Grantaire hadn’t given him a reason to keep them.

Grantaire curled a hand around the front of his throat, stroking his fingers and bringing Enjolras out of his thoughts as he pressed a kiss to the base of his neck.

He turned around, kissing Grantaire until he was nestled into the pillows once more. He pressed a final kiss to his forehead with a promise of tonight, and smiled as he saw Grantaire quickly fall back asleep in the grey light of an approaching dawn.  

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one night when I couldn't sleep and I figured I might as well publish it. there's never enough ace!Grantaire in this world.
> 
> I don't know if there actually is a real fairytale where the princess has to brush her hair 100 times a day. my grandmother used to tell it to me all the time because I hated brushing my hair growing up, and I always looked like I had just escaped the forest. of course the story never actually incited me to brush my hair- I had an aesthetic to uphold. 
> 
> I'm [romanifeuilly](http://romanifeuilly.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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